More Than Just a Footnote
by emergencyfan
Summary: Some Rodney angst that's been sitting on my hard drive gathering spiderwebs.


Stargate Atlantis and its characters belong to MGM.

Beta'ed at some point in the past by Nebbyjen, though all mistakes are mine.

* * *

**MORE THAN JUST A FOOTNOTE**

Rodney woke to darkness and throbbing pain. He lay still in the inky blackness trying to get his bearings; eventually he was able to narrow the source of the pain to his head. His fingers twitched involuntarily against the hard dusty ground beneath him and he realized he was lying facedown. _Atlantis?_ Taking a shaky breath in preparation, he levered himself up, pausing to swallow hard against a wave a nausea. He waved a tentative hand around the blackness that surrounded him until he came in contact with a rough wall. A brief examination with sensitive fingers confirmed that the wall wasn't similar to any part of Atlantis that he recognized. Sneezing in the dusty atmosphere caused an explosion of agony in his head. It took several minutes until the pulsing pain diminished enough for him to be able to think. _No more sneezing. Sneezing is bad. Very, very bad._

He struggled to focus and realized he didn't know where he was or how he got there. A tingle of adrenaline shot though him as he struggled to suppress a panic attack. _Think about this logically, McKay._ Fingering his tender head resulted in a sticky fingertips that smelled of blood. Adding that to his memory loss and the persistent nausea, he came up with a conclusion. C_oncussion._ Waving a hand in front of his face only resulted in a slight breeze. Was he blind, too, or was it just dark? He tried to stand up but something hard impacted with the top of his head and he collapsed onto the floor. The pounding in his skull increased tenfold and he retched, though all he tasted was bile. Spitting out as much as he could, he automatically reached for his canteen before realizing he wasn't wearing his vest, and therefore no water.

However, he _was_ wearing his jacket. Sheppard always insisted they be fully kitted out before they went off-world so the missing vest didn't make sense…unless he was still on Atlantis? But that seemed very unlikely. He leaned his aching head against the wall of rubble. After a few minutes of inactivity, the pain and nausea decreased a little. _Now what? _

He began to crawl, one hand on the wall to his right and one on the floor in front of him. He felt each object he came across carefully: grit, sand, dirt and rocks of varying sizes - a cave of some sort, maybe? Suddenly his fingers encountered something soft and clammy and he jerked back with a shudder. _Get a grip on yourself, McKay!_ He steeled himself and hesitantly reached back down, making contact with it again, forcing himself to explore it further.

_Someone's right arm._ It disappeared underneath the wall of rubble slightly above the elbow. A quick check confirmed there was no pulse. Not that he had expected one. He sat back on his heels. _Sheppard's? Teyla's? Ronon's? _And why was he assuming his team would be with him when he didn't even know where "here" was?

Putting the thought out of his mind, he continued his examination of the walls. The smell of bile told him he was close to his starting point. As best as his sore head could estimate, he was in a cavern approximately fifteen feet across, with a ceiling of varying heights, but at no point had he found it to be high enough to stand up…and no exit. _Definitely not Atlantis._

He wondered how long he'd been where-ever-the-hell-here was and suddenly let out an exasperated exclamation. Feeling for the watch on his arm, he pressed one of the two small buttons on the side. A faint green gleam emanated from his wrist. _Light!_ He almost cried in relief at the neon glow that drove away a little of the darkness, reveling in the knowledge that at least he wasn't blind.

Scrambling back towards the arm, he held the light to it, looking for any clue as to the owner. _Not big enough to be Ronon's and too light to be Teyla's._ He examined it closely, frustrated that he had never paid more attention to Sheppard's arms. Then he started to laugh at the thought: a high-pitched, near hysterical laugh. It went on for several minutes before he managed to bring himself back under control by taking a few deep, stuttering breaths and wiping away the tears on his face. His head was pounding again.

The light had gone out and he quickly pushed the button to reactivate it. It was only then he noticed the watch face was damaged. He blinked hard at the blurry cracked screen. Only the horizontal lines seemed to be displaying. The vertical ones had vanished leaving odd rows of broken dashes. Studying it, he realized the first set of three horizontal lines had to be the number two. The next number consisted of a horizontal line at the top and bottom of the display space. Going over the numbers in his head, the only one that fit that pattern had to be a zero - _twenty-hundred something hours_. Not that told him anything, really. But it did make him feel a little more in control for some reason.

Straining his ears, he listened for sounds in the darkness but heard nothing but his own harsh breathing. No clunk of a pick-axe. No faint sounds of someone digging. He rested his sore head against the wall of rubble. How long had he been trapped here? Where was here? For all he knew, no one was even looking for him. They might not know where he was or even that he was alive. Trying to force himself to remember resulted in nothing more than blankness, an increased pounding of his head, and nausea, so he stopped trying to think about the past and focused on the present instead.

Why, he wondered, was he just waiting around? It hadn't been _that_ long since he had begun depending on others. He had spent years, entire decades, relying only on himself. So why was he patiently sitting here waiting for rescue? Especially since his teammates may not even know what had happened to him…or could be dead. Squashing that thought and shoving it firmly to the back of his mind, he decided it was time he did something.

He could have started at the arm. But as desperate as he had been earlier to know whom the arm belonged to, he was now equally reluctant to uncover the owner. So he chose the area near where he had first woken up. Assuming that any sort of cave-in wouldn't have been instantaneous, chances were that he and the arm's owner would have been trying to make their way to safety. Depressing the button on the watch, he let the green glow shine softly on the wall of rubble before squeezing his fingers into a crack and working free a small rock. It came loose easily and he tossed it behind him before reaching for another. When the light went off, he didn't turn it back on. Instead, he continued to dig by feel. He dug until his fingertips were sore and his nails were ragged and he was too tired to lift his hands. What he wouldn't give for a few sips of water. Hot, sweaty and dirty, he paused to rest and drifted off in exhaustion.

He woke with a start. It took a minute to get his bearings and he allowed himself to wallow a few minutes in disappointment when he realized it wasn't all a dream. Checking his watch, he discovered two sets of three lines. _Twenty-two hundred? Twenty-three hundred?_ It could be either. He felt hot and dizzy but he wasn't sure if it was caused by his head injury or a depleting oxygen supply. The thought of running out of air spurred him on and he reached up and felt around the hole he had made, letting his finger lightly run over the area and feeling for a crack that would betray the next piece that could be removed. Though he had no way of measuring, he only worked about half as long as the last time before he succumbed, again, to exhaustion.

oOo

Jerking awake again, he was certain had heard someone call his name. Licking dry lips with an equally dry tongue, he croaked, "Hello?" Even _he_ didn't recognize the sound of his own voice, so he tried again, a little louder. "HELLO?" There was still no answer and he realized he must have been dreaming.

He leaned back despondently against the wall of rubble. It was getting harder to breathe. _The air is getting thinner._ Soon it would run out and he would die. Not exactly the blaze of glory he'd been hoping for: slowly suffocated to death on some alien planet. It amused him that he didn't even know the name of the place where he was going to die. What an obscure way to go. They might never even find his body. He'd just rot here in this little cavern until he eventually turned to dust and bones…nothing more than a footnote in the Atlantis database - "Dr. Rodney McKay – deceased." His name would be lost amidst all the rest: Abrams, Dumais, Gaul, Grodin, Hays, Lindstrom, Monroe, Peterson, Wagner... 'McKay' would fit in neatly between 'Lindstrom' and 'Monroe'.

The owner of the arm might belong in that list as well, he realized. He could picture the arm, justly lying there, all cold and dead. The thought played on his mind until he couldn't stand it. Grabbing some of the debris off the floor, he made his way over and using his watch's light to guide him, piled rocks and dirt on top of the pale appendage. Somehow having it buried made it less real. It was insane really. It's not like he'd been able to see it in the dark. Having it covered really didn't change anything, but it made him feel better. He crawled back to continue working on his escape tunnel, the thought of all those they had already lost on the expedition still swimming around in his head.

Maybe it was fate finally catching up with him, he thought, as he wiggled his fingers into a crack and broke free another small rock from the wall -- punishment for his failure to save Gaul and all the rest. They were, after all, _his_ people, his responsibility. Another rock came free and he tossed it behind him. It made a dull thunk as it hit the dirt floor. Maybe it was fitting that his name would join theirs? He scraped the wall with his hands until he found the edges of another rock and dug his fingers into the loose dirt around it. Then again, maybe their names deserved better company than his. He had failed to protect them. The rock refused to submit and he rested his palms against the wall as he was overcome by guilt and despair. Perhaps this was what he deserved -- buried alive like in some morbid Edgar Allen Poe story -- suitable punishment for his failures. Faces flickered through his mind. First, their last moments before death claimed them -- Gaul's acceptance, Lindstom's stark fear…Gradually, though, he begin to bring to mind their faces when they had first found out about Atlantis – the wonder, the surprise, the excitement.

Something sparked within him._ No, damn it! Not like this! _They may have not had the option to keep fighting but he did. He only managed to dig for a few more minutes before he slid slowly into unconsciousness.

oOo

Cool water touched his lips and he drank greedily, reveling in the sweet liquid as it quenched his parched throat. He was only half aware, realizing that he must be dreaming again, but decided he didn't care so long as this particular dream continued. The liquid continued and he gulped again, only to swallow too much. He started to cough and gag, spitting out the precious commodity.

"Easy, Rodney."

As suddenly as it had started, the water stopped flowing and he blindly snatched back towards the source like an eager child, hesitating when he realized that someone had called his name again_. Just another dream._

"Rodney?"

He could have sworn that was Sheppard. The familiar worry in the colonel's voice tempted him to look, but he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, refusing to have his hopes dashed again.

"Dr. McKay?"

This time he felt a touch on his arm and couldn't resist any longer. He took a chance and cracked his eyes open a slit, revealing a dusty, dirty Sheppard and equally grimy Teyla kneeling in front of him.

He could only stare at them.

"Rodney? You okay?" Sheppard asked, waving a hand in front of the scientist's face.

He blinked. "Yeah." Did he just say that? 'Yeah?' Like it was nothing? Like he hadn't been minutes, maybe seconds, from certain death?

Sheppard gave him a quizzical look as his eyes glanced towards the dried blood on the scientist's head, then to the dirt encrusted fingertips, before he trained the flashlight towards the wall of rubble.

Rodney turned to look at hole he had dug, now illuminated by the bright light, and stared. It had seemed so much larger to his blind hands, but now he realized what a laughably small amount of progress he had actually made. He had been kidding himself if he thought that sorry effort was going to succeed. He began to chuckle.

"Rodney?" asked Sheppard again, worried at the hysterical edge of the scientist's laughter. Gripping McKay's arm, he gave the man a gentle shake.

Grabbing Sheppard's wrist, Rodney pulled the arm in front of him so that the beam of the emergency light shined on it. He studied it with fascination, taking in every tiny detail.

After a minute, Sheppard became uncomfortable and pulled away. Giving his arm a curious look, he could see nothing of particular interest that would have held Rodney's attention. "What are you looking at?"

"I just needed to see," Rodney said, more to himself, before looking up to meet Sheppard's wary glance. "You know, for next time."

Sheppard turned to Teyla. "Do you think we should call Beckett," he asked in a soft undertone. She stared back at him wide-eyed but shook her head slightly. "Come on," he said, urging Rodney towards the hole the rescuers had dug. Once they had crawled through the tunnel, he helped Rodney stand up and steadied him until the scientist regained his balance.

There were a few other people in the cave, but none Rodney recognized so he ignored them for the moment. "Where's my vest?"

"Your what?" Sheppard asked in disbelief. The man had almost died and he wanted to know where his vest was?

"I know it wasn't your arm but I don't know what happened to my vest."

Sheppard shot Teyla another concerned look. "We found it back at the entrance. I'm assuming you took it off because it was getting in the way."

"Some of the passages in the cave are quite narrow," volunteered Teyla.

"That makes sense," agreed Rodney. He began walking instinctively towards the dim glow in the distance that denoted the cave entrance, stumbling though the debris that littered the floor of the underground cavern.

Sheppard automatically reached out to steady him. "Next time you decide to leave it behind, you might want to take your radio with you though," he chided gently. He'd save the thorough ass-chewing until the scientist had some time to recover and could fully appreciate it.

"Jertan assured us these caves were safe," Teyla reminded Sheppard as she followed closely behind the pair.

"Who's Jertan?" asked Rodney, his eyes never leaving the distant glow ahead that signaled freedom.

"Your guide, Rodney. He was going to show you some ancient drawings that sounded like they might include a picture of a ZPM?"

"I don't remember." The scientist stopped and leaned against the wall momentarily when the cave began to spin.

Sheppard was watching him with a concerned look on his face. "Don't worry about it. We'll get you back to Atlantis first. Teyla and I can come back and help the locals to search for him."

"He's back there," Rodney announced casually, pointing back towards the way they had come.

"There was no one there but you," said Teyla, gently.

"No, there was an arm…sticking out of the rubble. About 10 feet from where you found me. I put some rocks over it." He shuddered. "It gave me the creeps." He pushed off the wall, turning back towards the rockfall, but Sheppard caught his arm.

"We'll let them know," he said, keeping the injured man from returning to what could have easily been his tomb. "_You_ are going back to Atlantis. Beckett'll be anxious to get his hands on you."

oOo

"He'll be fine," Beckett assured them as Weir, Sheppard and Teyla all exchanged relieved glances. "He's exhausted, but sleep will cure that. We have him on I.V. fluids for the dehydration. He was lucky, there were no internal injuries."

"Does he remember what happened?" Sheppard asked.

"Not yet. It may come back to him, or it may not. Concussions can cause short-term memory loss, whether it's permanent or not, we'll just have to wait and see. He's lost about thirty hours from what I can tell." Turning to look towards Rodney's bed in the far corner of the infirmary, he continued, "What he needs now is rest." He turned back to the group in front of him, taking in the bedraggled appearance of the two rescuers. "I'd say you two could do with a shower."

Sheppard and Teyla exchanged an amused glance. "I suppose so," the colonel agreed. "You'll let us know if he needs anything?"

"You'll be the first." Beckett promised, waving them and Weir out the infirmary door.

He returned to his patient, checking the I.V. drip and the monitors. His movements caused Rodney to crack open bleary eyes.

"More than just a footnote," the scientist mumbled.

"What's that?" asked Beckett, leaning closer. But Rodney's eyes had already slid shut as he fell into a peaceful sleep.

**END**


End file.
